I have a theory. It isn't proven in any journal or acclaimed anywhere, but it is a tried and true sort of 'Murphy's Law'. And truly,that's all the proof I need.
Dating is fun - until it stops. And in it's place, settles drama.
I don't mean to insinuate that all dating leads to drama, but I will contend that any sort of relationship, friend or otherwise, has the ability to lead to drama. And that, includes dating.
I have experienced such of the like recently, and lucky me, from a few different point of views.
And as I scratch my head like, huh?, I always land on the same question:
When did this get so complicated?
No strings attached? I don't know.
I mean...
Our times are punctuated by reality way too often, still, I cant stay out of a daze with you
... so at a lost for words with each other, I don't know how we've ever spoken at all.
Flirting on the edge of possibility and curiosity; I dare you not to miss me. But please don't call my bluff.
When did this get so complicated? I don't know.
But I'm willing to work it through.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
It vs. Me
You tick...
And I run for the hills. I ask, 'how high?' and 'can I do it faster?' Where would you like me; it? Here? How about here? Is this better?
I think I can, I think I can...
Go faster, further, harder, stronger,. It can always be done better.
Why? Because
You tock...
And my anxiety builds. I feel your second's hand on my neck, down my back,breathing heavy
heavier
heaving in my right ear. Go; don't stop, 'til the end. But it never comes. My hands hold a vicious fever and both are burning a pyro's dream set ablaze with midnight oil and a wick burning from both ends. My eyes are weary from the heat as I look up. Another
Tick...
There is never enough of you and yet all I do is crave more. Always more-don't deny me. But you do. Our tumultuous rendezvous keep me, controlling my right hand and all it's mass production. I stare and look for you incessantly; needing your approval and acceptance, cringing at the thoughtof your shame. The slender fingers of your grip teasing me to continue amidst the countdown, when it comes.
Tock...
And I run for the hills. I ask, 'how high?' and 'can I do it faster?' Where would you like me; it? Here? How about here? Is this better?
I think I can, I think I can...
Go faster, further, harder, stronger,. It can always be done better.
Why? Because
You tock...
And my anxiety builds. I feel your second's hand on my neck, down my back,breathing heavy
heavier
heaving in my right ear. Go; don't stop, 'til the end. But it never comes. My hands hold a vicious fever and both are burning a pyro's dream set ablaze with midnight oil and a wick burning from both ends. My eyes are weary from the heat as I look up. Another
Tick...
There is never enough of you and yet all I do is crave more. Always more-don't deny me. But you do. Our tumultuous rendezvous keep me, controlling my right hand and all it's mass production. I stare and look for you incessantly; needing your approval and acceptance, cringing at the thoughtof your shame. The slender fingers of your grip teasing me to continue amidst the countdown, when it comes.
Tock...
The pressure heightens and my burden increases. Working with less and expecting more; always more. The pen can't move across fast enough, left to right left to right, and the fever hits a dangerous peak. I feign exhaustion, begging for the relief only you can provide. But you don't. We both know I can't, I wont; neither of us will allow the buzzer to time me out.
Go; don't stop 'til the end...but it never comes.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Sipology Illusions
The ever eclipsing moon is high in the sky above where I sit; silent, but restless.
Just waiting.
For what I am not exactly sure - yet I will know it when I see it. Feel it. Hear it.
I've been here longing for what seems like a lifetime -twenty one years- and while alot has caught my eye, very rare have things caused me to turn my head.
As I sit tonight, a man, small and frail, but full of hope and belief, passes through the doorway of my perched spot. Even as he hesitantly walks, I feel his positive optimism; not because he is overtly so, but because it is so genuine and suprisingly unjaded. He is older, 60's perhaps, and it is apparent to any who look that he has be directed down the rubble-ridden road of life; the fortunate ones, like myself, have been given the guided tour thus far. My guides? Chance, destiny, opportunity or simply the distant idea of luck that have kept me kept. But not for him.
He smiles to the blase strangers who instanly give him the defensive death eye and force him away with their ignorance. He hasent had the necessary dose of societal conformaty's to be out and about with people who thrive on such things. To him, no words are spoken as he shuffles his feet away, and although they know better, words would actually be useless; he is deaf. He feels their shuns, and turns - only to turn back around and graciously hand them a worn, consequently weatherd, note in the same classic cursive most older people use.
The kind that has written years of letters and correspondence; in this case, mercy pleas.
His note reads of being deaf his whole life and uneducated, assuring them he is of the best intentions and simply would like to know if they have anything to spare. Albeit they cannot read over the blinders of naivete.
Shunned again, and again, and again...
he spiritually picks himself up and smiles his seemingly signiture facade to the last strangers, and proceeds to the doorway he came through. The doorway that brought him into my view.
He passes and in doing so, his note wistfully slips from his meak hands and lands on the wooden slates next to my feet. It is now, under this eclipsed moon, that I turn my head...
Just waiting.
For what I am not exactly sure - yet I will know it when I see it. Feel it. Hear it.
I've been here longing for what seems like a lifetime -twenty one years- and while alot has caught my eye, very rare have things caused me to turn my head.
As I sit tonight, a man, small and frail, but full of hope and belief, passes through the doorway of my perched spot. Even as he hesitantly walks, I feel his positive optimism; not because he is overtly so, but because it is so genuine and suprisingly unjaded. He is older, 60's perhaps, and it is apparent to any who look that he has be directed down the rubble-ridden road of life; the fortunate ones, like myself, have been given the guided tour thus far. My guides? Chance, destiny, opportunity or simply the distant idea of luck that have kept me kept. But not for him.
He smiles to the blase strangers who instanly give him the defensive death eye and force him away with their ignorance. He hasent had the necessary dose of societal conformaty's to be out and about with people who thrive on such things. To him, no words are spoken as he shuffles his feet away, and although they know better, words would actually be useless; he is deaf. He feels their shuns, and turns - only to turn back around and graciously hand them a worn, consequently weatherd, note in the same classic cursive most older people use.
The kind that has written years of letters and correspondence; in this case, mercy pleas.
His note reads of being deaf his whole life and uneducated, assuring them he is of the best intentions and simply would like to know if they have anything to spare. Albeit they cannot read over the blinders of naivete.
Shunned again, and again, and again...
he spiritually picks himself up and smiles his seemingly signiture facade to the last strangers, and proceeds to the doorway he came through. The doorway that brought him into my view.
He passes and in doing so, his note wistfully slips from his meak hands and lands on the wooden slates next to my feet. It is now, under this eclipsed moon, that I turn my head...
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Intruige
Things have become muddy. Fast.
Faster than most may have predicted given the laiseez faire persona we both candidly embody.
'Between the sheets' evolved to the lofty sweet nothings whispered in my ear as we lay...
What occurs after dusk is long erased from our composure by dawn, but the smirks alone are enough to prosecute us as truly guilty.
Yet our enjoyable lucidity has been jaded by confusion, dilusion, and mistaken ideas of grandeur, which at best is presumptuous; worst, "dissapointing". The natural inclination to aspire to something, albeit, truly wanting nothing but enjoyment and security to fully dive in....
Alas, our playing fields of preference are off the richter and there seems to be no mutual ground for reconsideration.
Faster than most may have predicted given the laiseez faire persona we both candidly embody.
'Between the sheets' evolved to the lofty sweet nothings whispered in my ear as we lay...
unable to sleep until all was quenched.
We quickly forgoed the customary public renouncement; silently choosing instead to slip gentle hellos and secretive smiles amist the unspoken ethos that surronds us. What occurs after dusk is long erased from our composure by dawn, but the smirks alone are enough to prosecute us as truly guilty.
Yet our enjoyable lucidity has been jaded by confusion, dilusion, and mistaken ideas of grandeur, which at best is presumptuous; worst, "dissapointing". The natural inclination to aspire to something, albeit, truly wanting nothing but enjoyment and security to fully dive in....
Alas, our playing fields of preference are off the richter and there seems to be no mutual ground for reconsideration.
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Perks of Living in a City: Random bar hopping, conversation, and things of that nature
Even though I have lived in my new-ish apartment for a little over a month now, I can't seem to find the time, or the proper 'company' to accompany me out on discovery adventures, frequently known as "good and random local bar quest(s)'. Why would I always want company? You know, for the quintessential conversation and/or people watching, and mandatory subsequent laugther.
Tonight that problem was solved.
After securing not only the ambition, time and suto perfect company, I explored the eatery's and theaters at The Pike, slowly paced the way to a trendy neighborhood near Ocean - had coffee and beers and chatted like we couldn't stop the wave of convenient and entertaining conversation.
All on the same few blocks...placed so perfectly clandestine in a hobo corner of my downtown mecca and all its public wonders.
Three new places in one night and I feel closer and closer to my new home; as it drops the prefaced title of new and simply becomes, home.
Tonight that problem was solved.
After securing not only the ambition, time and suto perfect company, I explored the eatery's and theaters at The Pike, slowly paced the way to a trendy neighborhood near Ocean - had coffee and beers and chatted like we couldn't stop the wave of convenient and entertaining conversation.
All on the same few blocks...placed so perfectly clandestine in a hobo corner of my downtown mecca and all its public wonders.
Three new places in one night and I feel closer and closer to my new home; as it drops the prefaced title of new and simply becomes, home.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
One of those classic "WTF" moments
Anyone that knows me (and I suppose after writing this, the 'secret; will really be out) knows I love kids. I think they are fun, creative, imaginative and with three younger siblings under my wings, I find myself in the wonderful position of 'spoiler' and not disciplinary. Yes!
Still...
this love of children has its place and while I cant wait to have my own one day
I realize that this is very much
one day.
Leave it to the lovely toy industry to help young girls - like 5,6,7- capture one of the beautiful duties of motherhood in the midst of thier own youth: breastfeeding.
Kindly insert a very necessary "WTF?!"
Yes, Berjuan, a Spanish toymaker introduced to the world the 'gluttonous baby', also known as the Bebe Gloton, a doll that is specially made for breastfeeding.
Not so wierd, you think? I mean, they already have dolls that cry and pee and burp and all those fun absolutely disgusting things that kids do that only a mother would dare to take care of.
For me, the issues are out of control:
Society puts a ridiculous amount of pressure on girls and women of all ages and this is simply another ploy in the making. From day one, females, young girls especially, are told to be young and innocent; look pretty and always be agreeable. Don't make waves. Then, at a magical phase sometimes known as puberty, we hear these loud voices from magazines and TV and (oh fun) the Internet, to be sexy and fearless and desirable. Just don't make waves. Fast forward past the presumably unavoidable 'Brittney/Lindsey/Miley' years, and its demanded that we be professional career-minded women with independent tendencies and Samantha-a la SATC-esque cravings. And about those waves...get a few years older and poof - your a cougar who's been done in and turned out from the stress of men, children and a lifetime of assumed 'roles'.
Simply put - its exhausting.
What is so wrong with little girls just being little girls? Enjoying pig tails, and melting ice cream, trying on mom's earrings and writing notes on fun paper with those cute little stickers. Good times, good times.
The point is:
periods and boobs, leg hair and mood swings come soon enough as it is. We don't need our little girls with yet another burden of adulthood.
Still...
this love of children has its place and while I cant wait to have my own one day
I realize that this is very much
one day.
Leave it to the lovely toy industry to help young girls - like 5,6,7- capture one of the beautiful duties of motherhood in the midst of thier own youth: breastfeeding.
Kindly insert a very necessary "WTF?!"
Yes, Berjuan, a Spanish toymaker introduced to the world the 'gluttonous baby', also known as the Bebe Gloton, a doll that is specially made for breastfeeding.
Not so wierd, you think? I mean, they already have dolls that cry and pee and burp and all those fun absolutely disgusting things that kids do that only a mother would dare to take care of.
For me, the issues are out of control:
Society puts a ridiculous amount of pressure on girls and women of all ages and this is simply another ploy in the making. From day one, females, young girls especially, are told to be young and innocent; look pretty and always be agreeable. Don't make waves. Then, at a magical phase sometimes known as puberty, we hear these loud voices from magazines and TV and (oh fun) the Internet, to be sexy and fearless and desirable. Just don't make waves. Fast forward past the presumably unavoidable 'Brittney/Lindsey/Miley' years, and its demanded that we be professional career-minded women with independent tendencies and Samantha-a la SATC-esque cravings. And about those waves...get a few years older and poof - your a cougar who's been done in and turned out from the stress of men, children and a lifetime of assumed 'roles'.
Simply put - its exhausting.
What is so wrong with little girls just being little girls? Enjoying pig tails, and melting ice cream, trying on mom's earrings and writing notes on fun paper with those cute little stickers. Good times, good times.
The point is:
periods and boobs, leg hair and mood swings come soon enough as it is. We don't need our little girls with yet another burden of adulthood.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
S.O.S: An Unexpected Vegas Reunion
Several days ago, I wrote about my up-coming voyage to Vegas.
Think: Jennifer and myself, in an air-conditioned Corolla, 108 degree weather outside and the open deserted desert at our feet.
While the trip itself was low-key relaxation, the play by play leading up to the trip and during it is PRETTY much epic:
Think: Jennifer and myself, in an air-conditioned Corolla, 108 degree weather outside and the open deserted desert at our feet.
While the trip itself was low-key relaxation, the play by play leading up to the trip and during it is PRETTY much epic:
Thursday
After hastily packing just about EVERYTHING I own, I make my way south to Irvine where Jen lives. The plan is to leave bright and early the next day. Even on vacation, I seem to manage a 6am wake up call – go figure. As were prepping for Fridays take off, I get an 11pm call from a 714-number and instantly recognize those all too familiar digits. It’s my ex.
We ended up talking for 3 hours. About what? Everything. Single life, our families, the weather, old memories, my new place and his new roommate. It was strange at first; strange to feel so at ease with a person whom I haven’t had a laughable or enjoyable conversation with in over 3 months. Wow – 3 months.
Friday
In the car at 645 am, and onto the 55, the 91, & the 15 to Sin City. We arrive around noon, are graciously given rooms hours before obliged on the itinerary and make our way to the shops. We meet up with our company for dinner, do 5 rounds on Patron shots and taste every wine the cute waiter hands me.
In the meantime – the texts are flooding in. He wants pictures: of the hotel, of the casino and mostly of me. I oblige. He asks how the trip is going; the trip he was supposed to be on pre-break up and move out. Its great, I let him know. I wish he were here, I hesitantly add at the end, hoping for a miracle in my liquor filled haze. In all the places miracles could happen, I got mine in the middle of a casino restaurant.
Saturday
After 3 hours sleep, Im up. We He and I spoke into the wee hours and now Im anxiously awaiting his arrival.
What are we going to say, how are we going to act, what will other say about us?
We, us, our? I really need to stop doing that.
We spent our day sleeping, talking, swimming, socializing and smiling. Grinning ear to ear, it seems we both forgot were not really together together, just ‘a couple for the weekend’. Sometime this moderate thought entered my mind and I would kiss him like in the movies to shake my doubts.
After hastily packing just about EVERYTHING I own, I make my way south to Irvine where Jen lives. The plan is to leave bright and early the next day. Even on vacation, I seem to manage a 6am wake up call – go figure. As were prepping for Fridays take off, I get an 11pm call from a 714-number and instantly recognize those all too familiar digits. It’s my ex.
We ended up talking for 3 hours. About what? Everything. Single life, our families, the weather, old memories, my new place and his new roommate. It was strange at first; strange to feel so at ease with a person whom I haven’t had a laughable or enjoyable conversation with in over 3 months. Wow – 3 months.
Friday
In the car at 645 am, and onto the 55, the 91, & the 15 to Sin City. We arrive around noon, are graciously given rooms hours before obliged on the itinerary and make our way to the shops. We meet up with our company for dinner, do 5 rounds on Patron shots and taste every wine the cute waiter hands me.
In the meantime – the texts are flooding in. He wants pictures: of the hotel, of the casino and mostly of me. I oblige. He asks how the trip is going; the trip he was supposed to be on pre-break up and move out. Its great, I let him know. I wish he were here, I hesitantly add at the end, hoping for a miracle in my liquor filled haze. In all the places miracles could happen, I got mine in the middle of a casino restaurant.
Saturday
After 3 hours sleep, Im up. We He and I spoke into the wee hours and now Im anxiously awaiting his arrival.
What are we going to say, how are we going to act, what will other say about us?
We, us, our? I really need to stop doing that.
We spent our day sleeping, talking, swimming, socializing and smiling. Grinning ear to ear, it seems we both forgot were not really together together, just ‘a couple for the weekend’. Sometime this moderate thought entered my mind and I would kiss him like in the movies to shake my doubts.
Sunday
Jen and I reunite after seemingly being apart for forever. We inhale breakfast and parts ways to pack and exit our humble abode at the Four Seasons. I’ve never dreaded going home so much. Yes home is where the heart is, but right now Im still in my liquor haze and being in love isn’t helping me sober up. He leaves around noon since he has to work and our good-byes are turned into see you later; he asks to see my new place when I get home.
Jen and I have a tumultuous 7-hour saga home and 10:30 pm encroaches as I find parking in front of my duplex.
He comes around 1130 and we are simply happy again. No drama, no fighting, no nonsense- just happy in the moment and silently wondering, what’s next? Yet neither he nor I ask and perhaps that’s a good thing.
We’re both asleep in our fantasy when he’s beckoned back to reality and the night shift. Quiet, sad and naïve I walk him to the door and finally say good-bye. No see you later this time because the weekend is over. But again, the question of what’s next looms over us, as we stand sheepishly fixated in the hallway of my building. I don’t know – I don’t want to know.
Im just grateful for the weekend.
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